Man in the Wilderness
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Dean's done--with everything--and decides it's time to walk away. As bad as things were, they get worse when a demon he knew in hell finds him and wants answers. Set season four. Hurt!Dean, very determined Sam.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Set season four, spoilers for the premiere, ITGPSW and H&H. Rated for language. Dean was angry, and angry boys swear a little. Title and quoted lyrics are from "man in the Wilderness" written by Tommy Shaw and recorded by Styx._

**Man in the Wilderness**

_Another year has passed me by  
Still I look at myself and cry  
What kind of man have I become?  
All of the years I've spent in search of myself  
And I'm still in the dark  
'Cause I can't seem to find the light alone_

Dean had enough. It was finally enough. He was fed up to the point where every word was anger, every thought at least annoyed—if not something much worse, and ever action teetering on the brink of violence. It was finally enough. He had to go, he was sick of it all. He had to go, enough was enough.

Coming back from hell? Well, that had been okay. Getting out of the pit was a good thing, even with the horror of his memory coming back, the crushing guilt of what he'd done in those last years, trapped in that never-ending round of pain. Even as a torturer, the pain continued, it was different, sure, but in a lot of ways so much worse. The screams, knowing what he did to people. That knowledge with him all the time, and if he hesitated? Well, that bastard watching over him would take a slice or two to remind him to keep focused.

But he was back. _Hurrah. Oops, Sammy, did that sound bitter? Sorry, you'll have to forgive me. 'Cause coming back is just so fucking awesome. Oh, yeah. _

First, there were the damned angels. Okay, maybe not damned, that would make them demons like Ruby. The pain in the ass angels. Demanding he listen, that he obey, that he have faith that what they told him was right and proper. _Just like dad. "Suck it up, Dean, you're a Winchester. Because I know best. You have to trust me, I don't need reasons." _He sometimes wondered if his father had escaped from hell to go to heaven and was now some kind of angel drill sergeant. Castiel, and now that jerk Uriel, seemed to expect that instant faith and obedience, especially or most importantly, when it came to Sam.

And there was the other huge problem.

Sam.

Dean was glad his brother was still alive, those first moments when Bobby had hesitated nearly killed him. The relief had been huge, but then he discovered he had come back to a brother he barely recognized at times. It wasn't just that Sam was so much harder, his body covered with new scars marking the days he fought alone. No, Sam was different. He's been alone for a long time, and while he'd been hurting, grief-stricken even, he'd gone on and grown and become this new person that didn't need Dean anymore.

So, he was leaving.

Dean would tell the angels to put him on the bench, he wasn't going to fight their war. He didn't care if Lucifer escaped hell or Britney Spears became president. He was done, out of the fight and he planned to disappear and spend several days in a drunken coma, then he'd decide where to go from there.

He was tired of being the doormat and scapegoat for everything that happened in the world. He was tired of the crushing guilt of what he'd done, what he hadn't done. He was tired of everyone hating him for everything. Okay, maybe it wasn't exactly like that, but it felt that way. The weight of the world balanced on Dean Winchester's shoulders. His brother's life, that he was used to, that he even accepted, but now that meant so much more, the struggle to keep Sam safe, this new Sam, this Sam that could go on without him.

Why the hell did that hurt like it did? There was this wound, growing steadily, filled with memories of hell, but this other was there and so much worse? The knowledge that Sam could go on without him. Had gone on, fought battles, kept moving.

It hurt. It was slowly killing him, eating him alive with a torture that even hell couldn't conceive of.

_Suck it up, Winchester. _

Sam didn't need him. He was almost glad of that at times, the weight of raising his brother, of caring for his father, had always held Dean down. He was done with that. John was dead, Sam could fend for himself. It wasn't like Dean was dead, he'd call and let Sam know he was okay, he was just done with it all. Gone, outta here, next stop Shangri-la or someplace with hot babes willing to do his every bidding. Out of the war, done with taking care of everyone but Dean.

Hell sucked, memories of hell sucked even more.

And where the fuck did Sam get off FORGIVING him for what he'd done in those last years in the pit? Looking at him with those big doe eyes, tears on his cheeks and saying it was okay? It wasn't okay, it would never be okay, and the reality of what he'd done would haunt him forever. And Sam just forgave him. Hugged him, forgave him and took him out for steak. Just like that. Sam the freaking caretaker.

Nope, he didn't need Dean anymore, so it was time to go. Maybe, just maybe if Dean got out, they could both have a life, both have something beyond horror and anger and angels and demons and the end of the world.

Maybe.

Dean silently slid the last of his things in his bag and picked up a pad of paper with the hotel's logo.

_I'm leaving, catch you later. _He wrote it out and looked at it. Nope, that wouldn't do. He crumpled up the paper and tried again. _Sammy, I'm heading out… _Nope. Crumple. Start again. _Sam, I really think. _That sucked. Rip, crumple. Tried again, crumpled. Tried again, tore it into tiny shreds. Dean finally managed one he could almost stomach_. _He looked at it and doodled a little as he reread it. Set it on the table and looked at it again. It would do. He carefully placed the pen beside the paper, dropped the keys to the Impala on top the pad and walked out the door.

It was snowing, the light flakes dropping slowly from the metal gray sky. He didn't need to see the sun, didn't need to see the stars to know this was the one day he could disappear. Dean had found an ancient spell, one designed to remove someone from the notice of everyone. The spell, in fact, specifically noted that it would _"hyde he who uses this spelle from angels and demons, from all the magickes of the faithful and the evil". _Hiding from angels and demons was high on the list. If he was going to disappear, he needed to make sure no one could find him. And that included Ruby and Castiel. If someone tripped over him, well he'd be found, but this would at least keep them off his ass for awhile.

He walked through town and out into the field to the south. It was the perfect place. He set his bag down and pulled out the items he needed and laid them in front of him.

_Do I really want to do this? _

The drive to escape it all, to disappear was so strong it was nearly killing him. He was obsessed with the idea that if he could just leave, everything would return to normal. Oh, sure, his life would be pretty much over, but at least everyone would leave him alone. He was tired of what everyone expected of him, demanded of him, needed from him. It was time it was all over. If he disappeared, Sam could have a life, that dream of a real life away from the hunt, the thing Sam had _always wanted, _even though he insisted he didn't want that anymore.

Maybe in leaving he could free himself and finally, once and for all, save his brother.

That was what it was all about, or always had been. Sam. And this time? Well, it wasn't just saving Sam's mortal life, this was bigger, Dean knew it was bigger and he knew that those angels—and probably the demons—were cooking up something very unpleasant for Sam. They would expect Dean to go along with it, too. Just assume that he would say "yes sir, it's for the fucking best sir, kill my brother, right." Just like that.

No, not happening.

And maybe along the way he could save himself. Wasn't there an old belief that if you did one unselfish thing in your life, you could escape the fires of hell? Castiel said he'd throw Dean back into the pit without a second thought, maybe this way he could prevent that. Did that make it selfish? Still maybe it was saving Sam. Was that enough?

Sorrow cooled the anger a little.

He'd miss Sam. Even this new, scary Sam. The Sam that could easily toss demons back into hell with a wave of his hand.

_Not fair, Dean, you saw what it did to him to banish Samhain. _

He sighed and picked up the metal he was planning to use to make the amulet that would be his constant companion from now on. Dean wondered if this spell would hide him from himself as well, let Dean Winchester find silence and someone new go on. If that happened, it was just so much better, so much more that he could hope for.

Fuck everyone.

Well, except for Sam.

If the spell did make him disappear from himself, at least then the worry would be gone, the fear for his brother would be magically removed. That would help. Forget Sam, forget hell, no one could find him, he'd be safe, able to go on and live or die, it would be okay.

Dean lit the candles and took a deep breath, turning to the north, he lifted the amulet.

_Goodbye, little brother. _

**XXX**

"Goodbye, little brother," Dean's voice echoed through Sam's dream. He jerked awake, trembling from the nightmare he'd had every night for the last week. Every time, Dean's voice had a finality to it, every time it would haunt Sam for the whole next day, he even heard himself snapping at Dean as the remembered emotion from the dream blended with daytime reality. Sam took a deep breath and sat up, automatically glancing towards the other bed, seeking as always after the nightmare, the solace that came from knowing Dean was still there.

Only this time, Dean's bed was empty.

"Dean?" Sam got up, not too worried yet, and walked to the bathroom. The door was open light was off. "Dean?" He could see the Impala still parked in front of the room. Sam opened the door and looked out. "Dean?" he called. The parking lot was empty. _Weird. _Sam turned back into the room and saw the keys on the table. Crumpled paper littered the table top.

All he could see was the note.

Looping doodles ran down the side, a skull and cross bones, a rough line drawing of a car—indications of Dean thinking hard about something. Sam picked up the pad in shaking hands.

_Sammy, it's not working. Or I'm not. I don't know. But it's better this way. Take care of yourself and my baby. Dean._

Sam read the note again, but it said the same thing as the first reading. He read it again, the words not making sense that time. _No. _He started opening the crumpled bits of paper, reading all the notes Dean had started, full of angry slashes and even angrier words. He read the note on the pad again, his mind refusing to wrap around the fact that Dean had left. Anger surged through Sam, he threw the pad across the room, hearing it smack against the wall. "God damn it, Dean, what the hell? Why did you go?" Sam shouted to the room, anger quickly becoming rage at the idea that Dean had left.

He'd actually left.

Sam started packing. Dean wouldn't get far. _Oh, hell, no._ And once he found his brother he'd pound him into the floor. He'd scream at him and demand to know why he left. What he was doing, where he was going. WHY? The word shrieked through his head.

Suddenly he stopped, the possible reason creeping up through the layers of rage. Sam's stomach started roiling. _Did Dean leave because of me? Because I used my powers to defeat that demon? _Sam was sure they'd settled that, it hadn't come up again since Halloween, but it lurked in Sam's consciousness—always there, taunting him. That and the words from his brother that if Dean didn't know him, he'd hunt Sam. And of course the implication was always here, unspoken but there. Hunt him—and kill him.

Sam finished packing and picked up the keys. He had taken one step towards the door, when the portal slammed open so hard the knob buried itself in the wall. _So not paying for that. _

"Where is Dean?" Castiel demanded from the doorway.

"I don't know." Sam turned to the angel.

"Where is he?" he said, coming into the room, Sam backed away from the fury written on the angel's face.

"I don't know," Sam repeated. "He left."

"He's gone," the angel growled.

"I know, I just said he left," Sam snapped. Who knew angels could be so annoying?

"No." Castiel backed him up against the wall. "He's gone. We can't locate him."

"What?"

"He's gone."

"Is he dead?" Sam whispered.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Sam yelled.

"He's gone. We can't find him. We don't know if he's alive, dead—anything. He's gone."

"Gone?" Sam couldn't get his head around that—where could someone go that angels couldn't find them?

"Gone." The angel leaned close, only inches separated his face from Sam's. "What did you do?"

"Me? I didn't do anything, I told you, he left."

"If I find out you're lying, what Dean suffered in hell will look like a week at an amusement park compared to what I'll do to you." Castiel glared at him for a moment longer and disappeared.

Sam stood with his back against the wall. The look the angel had given him was scary. The fact that the angel had no idea where Dean was terrified him. _Oh god, Dean. _Everything crashed down on him in that moment. Dean was gone, lost, nowhere to be found. _No, not again. _Sam reached down and picked up the pad of paper with Dean's note on it. He carefully tore it off the pad and folded it, tucking it into his pocket, a token to carry until he found his brother.

Sam sank down on the bed, unable to do more at that moment. The grief from the long summer suddenly back as surely as if it had never gone. _This time Dean, I'll find you, I'll save you. _

He patted the pocket with the note.

_I promise. _

**XXX**

Leaving wasn't as easy as Dean thought it would be. After four days he was beginning to realize it. He knew Sam was looking for him, had even caught a glimpse of the Impala two towns back. The fact that his brother was unconsciously trailing him showed just how well Sam knew him, even this new almost unknown Sam. Dean had even tried to change gears, head in what he'd thought was a different direction, only it must not have been that big of a change—that was the day he saw the Impala.

Dean sighed and shoved open the door on the sleazy bar at the edge of the town he was traveling through. It was a little sleazy even for them, so he figured Sam wouldn't look there, if Sam had gotten to town already. It was a dingy dive of a place. Dean walked over to the bar and ordered a beer, a shot and a burger, hoping that he'd survive the food poisoning the place probably served with the fries. After ordering he stalked to the farthest, darkest corner of the bar and sat down where he could watch the door.

He'd been seated for fifteen minutes, picking through the rancid meat on his plate, when he heard the engine of his car thrumming outside the emergency exit. Dean looked up, through a grimy window he saw the Impala slide into one of the parking places out front. _Shit. _Dean got up and headed to the bathroom, thankfully the fetid place had a window big enough to crawl out of, he hauled himself up, being careful to disturb as little of the filth as possible, and slipped out the window, pushing it closed from the outside before dropping into a urine-scented alley below.

Dean leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to decide which way marked the best escape. This was the closest Sam had come, and it would be hard to ditch him if Sam was only a couple of minutes behind him. He glanced down the alley, thinking. If he headed away from Sam—well that was the logical choice, and Sam would know that, so Sam would head in the opposite direction, past the car and back into town. Or would he think that all through and come up with a _Princess Bride _level of logical reasoning? Dean shook his head, unsure of what to do.

"Dean," a voice purred from the shadow veiling the building opposite him. He turned away, ignoring the voice. Whoever it was followed him, Dean was leading them away from Sam. "Oh, come now, I know it's you. You can't ditch me now that I've seen you. It was hard, after your spell, but I've found you. I can't wait to tell them I just stumbled over you." A hard laugh echoed through the dark. "And as soon as I find your brother, it will be lovely."

"Who are you?" he finally said, still walking away.

"You don't know me? I'm offended, and we were so close those last years."

"Go away, you have the wrong person," Dean said, resisting the urge to run, the cadence in that voice was starting to sound familiar.

"I doubt that," she said, suddenly in front of him. "How could I forget the man I helped dismember—well, how many times was it?"

"Delia?" Dean stopped and looked at the woman in front of him, trying to see the demon he knew must be there, panic flowing through him. _She's looking for Sam? I have to keep her away._

"Nice to be remembered," she lashed out at him, he felt the punch connect and then nothing.

Dean awoke to a sea of pain, the agony so complete that for a moment he was convinced that his brief sojourn back on earth had been some kind of hell inspired delusion. He took a shuddering breath, it was enough to send spears of pain through his body, but also let him know he was not in hell. The air smelled moldy, it didn't have the tint of rotting flesh and sulphur that permeated the depths of hell.

The agony did have that edge of damnation to it. Delia had him pinned to the floor, whatever was holding him there was driven through his wrists and ankles, the ones in his arms just touching the edge of a nerve, if he moved at all, the pain was unbearable. He remembered this well, it was a favorite starting point for Alastair and his ever-helpful helper Delia. They had explained for long years about perfecting this technique, how they'd passed it on to various humans so they could use it as well. Always the lesson, always this agony, always right before the fun really started.

"Awake are we?" Delia purred. "I want to talk to you about your brother."

"You can't have Sam."

"Where is he, Dean?"

"You're the demon, you find him."

"That is proving to be something of a challenge lately, and we aren't sure why. Where is he?"

"You can't have Sam."

"Dean, you want to tell me."

"You can't have Sam." It was a common refrain in this conversation, Dean wondered again if he was back in hell and it was starting again. _Oh, please no. _Dean stared up at the dark beams over his head, bracing himself against the onslaught of memory.

"_Awake again?" Alastair's hated voice flowed over him. Dean looked at the demon, watching as Delia finished ramming a spike through Dean's wrist so they could start._

"_Fuck you," Dean growled at the demon. It was the same conversation they'd been having here in hell for thirty long years, well, twenty–nine years, fifty weeks, three days, sixteen hours, twelve minutes and twenty-seven seconds._

"_Yes, well, that didn't work, so let's move on, shall we? We have something special today." The demon rubbed his hands together in happy anticipation. "Delia? Let's make sure he can't move." She came over and smiled at Dean, running a clawed hand over his face before pinning his head to the wall with a spike through his neck, blood flowed down his body, Dean could hear each breath as it gurgled through his open trachea. _If only this would kill me. Yeah, right, dream on. _She smiled at him and patted his face and then turned away._

"_Let's start again, Dean. Join me, help me with my work," Alastair said with a smile._

"_Um, let me think," Dean gurgled. "No, you freak, bite me." _Oh shit, shouldn't have said that. _He held his breath and Delia took a savage bite, tearing away part of his thigh. "Thanks, still won't work."_

"_We have a present for you, someone got a little sloppy," she cooed._

"_What?" Dean demanded, his heart sinking. _Please. _It was his only prayer in that place, "please" and it wasn't for himself. _

"_Of course, you only need one eye for this," Alastair said. A second later pain blossomed, Dean heard himself screaming, felt the rush of blood down his face, then opened his eyes again, he could only see out of one, Alastair was holding the other in bloody fingers. "Bring him in."_

"_Let me go!" Sam's voice echoed through the bowels of hell. _

"_Welcome, Sam, we've been waiting so patiently." _

"_Dean!" Sam said, meeting his eyes, sorrow and regret was painted on his face._

"_You don't get Sam," Dean gurgled._

"_Ah, but I have him. Delia, if you would?" Alastair said. _

"_You don't get Sam," he repeated._

_Dean watched as they pinned Sam to the wall, watched as they sank hooks into his brother's body, watched as they tortured Sam to the point where, even in hell, Sam faded away. Dean was weeping, begging them to stop as he never had for himself by the time Sam slumped. They turned on Dean and started with him, but it was nothing compared to what watching them torture Sam had done._

_Five days later, five days of pleading for Sam, of watching them torture his brother, Dean made his offer. "If you let Sam go, let him out of here, I'll do what you ask."_

"_If you go back on this, he's back here. For now he'll just be dead. Good enough?"_

"_No, Dean," Sam begged, blood covering his body._

"_It gets you out, Sammy." Dean watched as they tortured Sam one more time, this time when he slumped, he disappeared. Dean sighed in relief, they tortured him one more time too, just for good measure, but then took the pins out of his wrists, and left them out, for the first time in thirty years._

"Where's Sam?" Delia asked.

"You don't get Sam."

"Please, tell me," she twisted a pin in his left wrist. Dean ground his teeth against the pain. "Pretty please?"

"YOU-DON'T-GET-SAM!"

"Dean, Dean, did that work before?" she asked congenially, then snapped the index finger on his left hand, he heard the bone break. He tried not to scream, it didn't work. She laughed and pulled out a knife. "Let's talk shall we?"

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I didn't mean for this chapter to take so long! Sam and I were having a little disagreement with where it was going. Of course, he was right, but I was being stubborn. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! I will catch up on replies, I promise! Warning: A little graphic, and bad language from the boys. Special thanks to TraSan._

**Man in the Wilderness**

**Chapter Two**

The town was one of those gray railroad towns that filled the interior of America. The place was divided by the tracks and the highway served as Main Street. Sam cautiously drove down the road, looking left and right for any sign of the truck Dean had caught a ride in. His brother had been hitchhiking for the past few days, and sometimes Sam lost sight of the vehicle carrying his brother, sometimes—not often.

He was being more careful. There had been a close call two days before. Dean must have sensed that he was behind him somewhere and had tried for a change of pace. Instead of heading to a cheap motel and bad restaurant, he'd checked into a four star and had dinner at a place that required ties. Sam had been stunned into a pause that nearly got him caught. He'd followed Dean into town and to the hotel, but he thought he saw Dean looking out of an upstairs window—he was sure his brother had seen the car.

So he'd dropped back a little further, letting Dean think Sam was looking, not that he'd found him very quickly that first day and had been behind him ever since. He needed to make sure Dean was okay, that his head was back in the game, before he left him alone. Dean was watching for Sam, but wasn't paying attention to much else—Dean had gotten drunk every night and last night, stumbling out of the bar, had nearly run into trouble. Sam spotted the woman trailing Dean from the bar, something about her movements set off the warning bells. He grabbed the machete from the trunk and followed her. His guess had been right—vampire. He got to her as she reached Dean's room, she was in the process of opening the door when Sam sent her head bouncing across the parking lot. He cracked the door open, Dean was face down on the bed, snoring loudly. Sam eased the door closed and walked back to the Impala.

"Where's Dean?" the voice had greeted him as he reached the car.

"Do we have to do this every night? I don't know. In case you haven't noticed, I'm looking for him," Sam growled, turning to Castiel and Uriel. They both had started making daily appearances. Sam was still baffled that he could follow Dean, but the angels couldn't. _Assholes. _

"We think you do know," Uriel snapped.

"Think all you want. I'm looking for him. I missed him by minutes yesterday, thanks to you."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked a little more reasonably.

"He was in that restaurant when I got there, but thanks to our nightly chat, he was gone by the time I got into the place. Gone and nowhere to be found."

"Oh," Castiel said, almost softly. A fleeting look crossed his face, but was quickly replaced by his usual scowl. "You let us know when you find him—the instant you find him."

"I told you no."

"Don't you talk to us like that." Uriel stepped in front of the other angel.

"Let me find him and talk to him first."

"We'll be back tomorrow." Castiel turned to Uriel and they vanished.

"Great," Sam had muttered to the Impala. "Just great."

He was hoping to avoid the chat today. Sometime during the course of the long night he'd spent watching Dean's motel room door, he'd decided it was time to talk. He wanted to give Dean time to do whatever he needed, but four days without a phone call or text was unusual enough to make Sam worry. Dean obviously wanted to disappear, and Sam hoped that he could talk Dean into returning. It killed him that Dean had left without talking to him, killed him that Dean had gone, period. It had never happened before, Dean leaving, never once. Although…It had come close one summer long before.

**Past**

Sam never knew what started the fight, all he knew was he woke up to hear his father and brother shouting at each other. He sat up in bed and looked out the door. Dean and John were standing in the main room of their apartment, both had their fists clenched.

"You don't talk to me that way," John growled.

"Like you deserve anything better after what happened," Dean shot back.

"You have no right."

"I have every fucking right. You have no clue. You live in your own damn world half the time and you never open your eyes and see what's going on."

"How dare you?"

"Right back atcha, dad." John's fist shot out so fast, Sam didn't see it coming. He got out of bed and made it nearly to the door before Dean pulled himself off the floor. "Fine. You can stitch your own fucking wounds from now on. Make your own damn dinner. I'm through. That's it. Sam needs to be at school by seven-thirty, make sure he's up by six. He has finals this week."

"Dean?" John said, anger still in his voice, but Sam could hear something else, too.

"Tell him I said goodbye. No, you won't. I'll call later." Dean walked to the front door, opened it without a glance back.

"You walk out Dean, don't come back."

"Don't worry, dad. I told you. I'm done." And Dean was gone.

**Present**

Sam spotted the truck Dean was in and eased back on the gas. He didn't want his brother to see him too soon. He drove down the alley behind the seedy bar. The emergency exit door fronted the alley, and he worried that Dean would hear the car before he could get in the door. Sam pulled around the building and into a parking space. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the door.

The passenger door opened.

_Shit. _Sam smiled at Castiel. "You're early."

"We thought we'd catch you before you let Dean slip away again," Uriel said, bending down to look in the car.

"Then you need to let me go. Now," Sam said, getting out of the car.

"Why?" Uriel stopped him.

"Because I think he's in there right now," Sam said a little desperately.

"Let him go," Castiel snapped to Uriel.

Sam tossed a grateful look over his shoulder and opened the door to the bar. He could sense the angels behind him. Repressing a sigh, he turned to them. "Your coming with me probably won't help." He blocked the door, frowning at them, waiting for a bolt of lightning to take him out for defying Castiel and Uriel. When nothing happened, he let out a sigh of relief. "Let me talk to him first."

Uriel started to say something, but Castiel stopped him. "We'll be back."

"You always are," Sam said sourly and walked into the bar. Dean was gone. "Shit!" He spotted a table at the back with a partially empty glass and nearly untouched plate of food. "Damn." He ran to the bathroom. It was empty. The window was ajar, a single hand print disturbed the filth on the sill. Sam raced out of the bathroom and out the emergency exit. The alley was empty. Sam walked over to the window. He could see a disturbance where Dean had landed. Something caught his eye, a dull color in the dark alleyway. He bent down and touched a finger to it. _Sulphur. No, no, no. Not good. _"Dean!" he shouted, not expecting any answer, but hoping anyway. "Dean!" his voice bounced back to him.

"Demon," Castiel said from behind him.

"Yeah, you think? And now, thanks to the two of you, it has Dean." Sam clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger in check. It wasn't working very well. He ran a hand over his face, trying to decide whether or not to ask Castiel for help. _I have to find Dean. _"Can you find the demon?" he asked, trying to keep the rage out of his voice.

"There are many demons here," Castiel said.

"The one who has Dean?" Sam said patiently.

"We can't locate Dean, so we don't know which demon to follow," Uriel said with an unkind smile.

"Right. " Sam nodded. _They aren't going to help. _"Thanks." He turned and walked back into the bar, pausing to pick up Dean's bag before heading out to the Impala.

"You will tell us when you find him," Castiel said as Sam came out of the bar.

Sam brushed past the angel without saying anything. He stopped when Uriel put a hand against the driver's side door of the car. "I have to find him first." He met the angel's eyes and was surprised to see something like hate simmering in the dark depths. "If he's not already dead." Sam grabbed the door and yanked it open. _Hang on, Dean, I'll find you, I promise._

**XXX**

Dean was becoming more and more convinced that he hadn't made it out of hell after all, and that everything he thought had happened had been some kind of hell-inspired delusion to make it all so much worse when it began again. A tiny slice of his mind, a piece that still kept some semblance of rationality, knew that wasn't true, knew he'd been saved, knew he was back on earth. But that was only a tiny part.

The rest was pretty much taken up with screaming.

He'd come to terms with it in hell. Screaming. He remembered telling Sam once that macho guys never screamed, knowing damn well they did. But he always denied it for good measure. Once he was in hell, the denial seemed frivolous, and he'd just accepted the screaming as part of life—well part of death. Of course, the nice thing in hell was that he screamed his throat bloody and it healed over night. That wasn't working here. He could taste blood already. _Of course, who knows how long I've been here? _

Delia knew what she was doing. She always had—in hell she excelled in carving and slicing, in taking large bloody chunks away while he watched. Right now, she seemed more focused on how much pain she could cause with as little big damage as possible. In hell, his body would just put itself back together so she and Alastair could start again. She seemed concerned about that, and was happily torturing him, driving him into unconsciousness and then waiting for him to wake up again so she could try something new.

Oddly, he found it comforting—because that tiny rational piece kept telling him this torture meant he wasn't in hell and she was being careful not to kill him.

Yet.

He heard someone groan, and recognized his voice a second later.

"Awake again, Dean?" she purred.

"Nope."

"Where's Sammy?" she asked. She started tapping the middle of his forehead with a fingernail.

"It's Sam," he growled.

"Now, Dean, that's not what you called him during our time together. When you were begging for his soul."

"You don't get to call him Sammy." The tap on his skin was beginning to graduate to something like pain.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know, I left." He ground his teeth together.

"We want to talk with him."

"Yeah, you said that. Fuck off."

"Lilith has a few things she needs to discuss with him." Over the now painful tapping, each touch exploding through his brain, he heard her pick something up. Part of him wanted to open his eyes, the rest knew better.

"Tell her to send an email."

"You know, I actually love your stubbornness, I haven't had the chance to really enjoy this for a long time." She ran a warm hand up his right arm. "The last hunter I tried barely lasted a day. So sad, there was a time when even the wimps lasted longer than that."

"Fun for you."

"Yes, always." She gently patted his cheek. "Now, let's see how this works."

Dean felt the prick of a needle in his elbow, then the jab as it started sinking into his flesh. "That all you got?"

"Of course not."

She slowly applied pressure, pausing for a moment, then starting again.

_I won't scream yet, I won't scream yet, I won't scream yet._

Delia purred with glee.

The needle sank into the nerve.

Dean heard himself screaming, blood running from his mouth.

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. My health has been a little less than awesome lately, and it affected my writing and computer time. Thank you again, everyone, for your reviews and support, they really do keep me going. I hope you all don't mind, this chapter is a little long... Thanks much to TraSan for Sam insight, she helped me get it right (I'd tell you where, but hey, no spoilers.)_

**Man in the Wilderness**

**Chapter Three**

_I spend my life and sell my soul on the road  
__And I'm still in the dark  
__'Cause I cant seem to find the light alone_

The screams bouncing around the warehouse had begun to take form. At first, it had been mindless shrieks of agony, then slowly, over the immensity of time he'd been there, they had reverted to the scream that had been torn out of him during his first decade in hell.

Of course, he was trying his best to just not scream anything, but that never had worked, in hell or this little slice of hell he was trapped in right now. Dean was still pretty, almost totally, yep, pretty damn sure, he was most likely not in hell. The fact his body was slowly habituating to the torture Delia was dishing out was his one clue. In hell, it never got better, but here...He wondered if Sam would think he was insane when he said the one thing he was clinging to was the fact that she kept having to change up the torture as his body became accustomed to the pain, and she needed to devise something else to make him scream.

She'd finally stopped asking where Sam was, he was sure she was feeling close to his breaking point, close to finally giving in, telling her and letting her kill him slowly. Oh, yeah, she promised that, but now a slow and torturous death actually seemed like fun compared to the moment to moment existence he had right then.

"Are you awake?" Delia purred.

"Nope, screaming in my sleep again." Dean managed to get his eyes open, the world had an odd pink edge to it.

"Lovely, I was thinking, you must be tired of laying around," she said conversationally.

"Nah, I like how pieces of the ceiling keep dropping into my eyes. It's nice." He ground his teeth together as she pulled the pins out of his arms and legs.

For a fleeting second he was almost pain free. Or it seemed that way—and that's what almost broke him. Tears were suddenly in his eyes and he took deep gasping breaths. In that moment the stray thought he'd kept firmly at bay crept in as well. _Sammy? Are you still looking for me? I kinda fucked this up, didn't I? _

Delia had walked away and Dean could hear her doing something against the far wall. He tried to push himself up, but his body refused to respond to any command other than "just lie there." She was back after several minutes of almost blissful rest. The smile on her face was terrifying. She ran a long fingernail over his chest, he felt skin peel away, but luckily, that was an area that didn't seem to respond to pain as well anymore.

"Let's go," she said, grabbing his wrist in a vise like grip, then dragging him over the floor of the warehouse, nails and broken glass tore at him during the passage. When she reached the wall, she hauled him up one handed and fastened a pair of handcuffs over his wrists. With a soft purr she pointed up, Dean looked.

A meat hook.

_Oh god, oh no._

She laughed and lowered the hook down, letting it bang against his head and shoulders before grabbing it and running it along his chest and back, laughing softly as his breathing changed. Finally, with a last chuckle, she draped the handcuffs on the hook and hauled it up.

The rush of relief nearly killed him.

Then he saw what she had in her hands and he screamed again, the scream with meaning, the scream he'd been fighting all along, but in that moment he reached out to the one thing that might save him, might release him from this. The one thing that had always been there. He'd fought it, but it was there, torn out of him...

"SAM!" his voice echoed weirdly in his head. "SAMMY!"

**XXX**

Sam was getting desperate. In the two days since Dean had disappeared from the bar, things had gone from bad to worse. The police had started finding bodies in empty warehouses and buildings. All of them had been tortured to death, slowly, horrifyingly tortured. Sam had gone to the morgue to see what he was dealing with—because he was sure it was related to Dean. One of the bodies had turned out to be Dammond Johnson, a hunter Sam met over the summer while Dean was...was... _gone. _Johnson was a mess, Sam looked over the autopsy reports, then managed to keep his coffee down while the ME showed him the body.

"Haven't seen anything like this," the ME said with a happy sigh.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, looking at the body.

"Whoever did this was a pro, knew just what they were doing—kept him alive for a long time."

"Yeah," Sam swallowed the bile that had taken up residence in his throat. _Oh, god, Dean, hang on. _Looking at the body, Sam knew without a doubt they were dealing with demonic torture. He was also beginning to suspect that the bodies were messages from Lilith aimed at him. "What?" he said, glancing up.

"Oh, I said, sometimes the cruelty people can manage amazes even me."

"Yeah, me too, thanks," Sam shook the man's hand and walked out. He took several deep breaths to control the nausea burning through his body, then went on. As he headed out the door, he groaned. "I haven't found him, I don't know where he is, I don't know what's going on. Leave me alone," he said as he walked towards the Impala, the angels trailing behind him,

"We have information," Castiel said.

"What?" Sam turned back.

"We heard that Delia is in town."

"Delia?" Sam asked, madly running through the list of demons in his head, the name didn't pop off the list.

"She knew Dean in hell," Castiel said grimly.

"So, she's got Dean," Sam said eagerly. "Where are they?"

"We don't know."

"You were just letting me know who had him?" Sam growled, breathing through the anger that blossomed every time the angels put in an appearance. "Thanks. I'll get on that."

"When you find him, you call us," Uriel said.

"No." Sam got in the car and turned it on, he was proud of himself when he resisted the urge to flip off the angels as he pulled out.

Once he cleared the parking lot, he turned towards the warehouse district that lined the railroad tracks. He'd been through it several times, trying to find something, anything, to help him located Dean. The bubbling desperation hovered on the edge of blind panic most of the time and it was making it hard to think. He had to find his brother, they'd hash out the reason Dean took off once Sam was sure he was okay. _Then I am kicking his ass, helping him up, kicking his ass again, getting him a coffee, and kicking his ass. _Sam sighed, the idea Dean had left was still hard to get around, still impossible to accept. Dean only left once before, and he'd come back that time.

**Past**

The arguments had slowly ceased, silence had descended between Sam and his father. They spoke to each other only as much as was needed. Sam was angry that Dean was gone, he was pretty sure his father blamed him. He still had no idea what had caused the argument the night Dean left, but it was there between them like a huge wall they were both ignoring.

Sam watched his father pacing around the hotel room like a caged tiger. John would walk to the windows, look out, pace to the bathroom, turn on the lights, walk to the door, open it, pick up the remote, change the channel and then back around again. Sam wondered if either Dean or John realized they both did that. Pacing when they were angry, or nervous—or worried. Because Sam knew that's what was going on with his father, John was worried. Dean had been gone a week with no word except the evening message on Sam's phone to let them know he was okay. Sam made the mistake of answering the first night, Dean had hung up, since then, he and John would wait through the ringtone, and hold their breaths until the phone beeped to indicate a message. Every evening for a full week.

And there was more.

Sam and John had finished the hunt that they were working on before Dean left. It hadn't gone well. Sam still wasn't sure what happened, but when he came to, his leg ached and now the wound on his thigh was deeply infected. The fact his father was making "hospital" noises terrified him. They didn't go to the ER unless it was life and death.

Of course, Sam knew how bad it was, he could feel the fever coursing through his body, slowly sapping his energy. He could smell the wound, knew what the odd throb meant. He wanted his brother, wanted to be able to say sorry and goodbye and everything else he worried about never having said during long fevered hours.

"I'm calling Dean," John said for the fifth time that hour.

"No, dad," Sam said, blinking at the blurry form bending over him.

"Sam..."

"He needs to get his ass back here," John continued, undaunted.

"You told him not to come back if he left, dad," Sam said reasonably, then realized what he said, all the color drained out of John's face. "Sorry," he mumbled and closed his eyes.

A cool hand was placed on his forehead. "We need to go in, I've let this go too long," John said. Before Sam could protest, he was lifted up and carried to the truck. John latched the seatbelt around him.

"I'm okay," he said. When his phone started ringing, Sam answered it without thinking. "Hey?"

There was a long, long pause on the other end, Sam almost broke the connection, but his fingers hadn't caught up with the commands his fevered brain was trying to send them. "Sammy?" Cautious, suspicious. "Sam?" Dean asked.

"Dean."

"What's wrong?" That snap had a ring of urgency to it.

"Nothin', Dean, s'fine." Sam glanced at his father, John's jaw was clenched so tight, Sam was sure he'd break a tooth. He needed to finish this before his father grabbed the phone.

"Sam?"

"Din sleep good last night, tired."

"It's five in the afternoon, Sammy, what's wrong?"

Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to tell Dean what was happening. Dean promised long years before that Sam would never be alone in a hospital. "I'm okay. Where're you?"

"Sam?"

"Gotta go," Sam hung up the phone before his father's reaching hand could close over it.

"What the hell?" John snapped. "He needs to be here."

"No, he doesn't want to be here, I'm not telling him." Sam looked out the window, aware of tears coursing down his cheeks.

"He needs to get his ass back here."

Sam was silent, watching the town go by until they pulled up at the ER. By the time he was settled in a bed, IV tubes in his arm and nurses asking him questions, sticking him with things and muttering, he wished he'd ask his brother to come home. The combination of the fever, the stress of the hospital and his father growling at everyone without exception. He demanded answers from the doctor, pestered the nurses, and paced up and down the short length of corridor outside of Sam's room.

They'd been there for nearly an hour when Sam's phone rang. He pulled it out. "Hey," he said, then stopped, hoping Dean hadn't heard...

"Sam? What's wrong?"

_Of course he heard it. _"Nothing, Dean, I'm okay," Sam said, carefully ennunciating each word.

"Yeah, okay, fine, nothing's wrong."

"Where are you?" Sam asked, the words were out of his mouth before he even though about it. _Not sure I mix well with morphine._

"Sam?" Dean was quiet for a moment, Sam could picture him standing with the phone in his hand trying to hear what was happening on Sam's end. "I'm at a bar, found a hot waitress, I think I'll spent a little time with her tonight," Dean chuckled. "Talk to you later, Sammy."

"Dean...?" _Please come home, please, Dean. _

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Have fun."

"Right."

Sam took a deep breath, almost told Dean everything, but then just hit the off button on the phone. He could see his father talking to the doctor, John was angry. Sam could tell from his stance from the way his hand clenched and unclenched. His father was shaking his head, then cast a worried glance in his direction. Sam tried smiling, but he was suddenly just too tired to do anything but clasp his phone to his chest and close his eyes.

"What do you mean?" John's angry growl pulled Sam out of a dream.

"Dad?" Sam opened his eyes, they felt gritty and glued closed. He was in a different room, there was a TV on the wall and sunlight was peeking through the partially closed curtain. John had his back to him, talking to a man a white coat. "What's going on?" he asked, or he thought he did, John didn't turn, so Sam let his eyes drift up to the TV and the black and white movie. _Creature from the Black Lagoon, _Sam identified it with a twinge. _One of Dean's favorites. _The light form the windows was making his head hurt, he closed his eyes again.

The room was quiet when he surfaced the next time. His skin felt hot and stretched, he was thirsty, his throat ached and his leg was throbbing in time with the beeping coming from beside him. He tried to get his eyes open, they wouldn't respond. After several breaths, he heard someone moving in the room and a hushed conversation by the door, he couldn't make out the words, but he knew his father was upset. He tried to push beyond whatever was holding him, but gave up and sank back into the fevered darkness.

"Who's Dean?" a female voice was asking the next time he hovered close to the surface..

"His brother," John said.

"He's asking for him."

"I know, I tried calling, he's not answering."

_Dean? Where are you? I want to go home, I hurt. Where are you?_

Sam drifted away again.

That pattern seemed to go on forever. Barely waking, trying to focus on the sounds around him and drifting off in a haze of increasing pain and confusion. He started talking, he didn't even realize it at first, but after awhile, he could hear his own voice—asking for Dean, asking to go home, asking for Dean, asking for the pain to stop. Sometimes voices answered, sometimes a cool feeling would slide into his arm and everything would become silent for awhile.

"I want to go home," he said.

"You need to get better first," a quiet voice answered, a cool hand was placed on his forehead, the fingers trembling.

"I hurt, I want to go home."

"I know, but you need to get better first," the voice said patiently. The thumb on the trembling hand was gently stroking his forehead

"Want Dean."

"Sammy," the voice said gently.

"Dean?" Sam asked, the tone in the voice finally clicked.

"Can you get your eyes open?"

"Yeah." He tried, and after what felt like an hour, light crept in. Sam blinked slowly and focused on his brother. "You're here?"

"Where else?" Dean smirked at him.

"You still mad?"

"Doesn't matter."

"You gonna leave?"

"I just got here."

"Not what I meant," Sam said, trying to stay awake.

"We'll talk when you get better. I'll stay at least that long."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise," Dean said with a smile.

"TV?"

"I'll turn it on, but you have to try and sleep, okay?"

"Yeah," Sam let his eyes close. "You came home." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He was already drifting away when he heard his brother's quiet words.

"Yeah, I did, Sam."

**Present**

"SAM!"

Sam stopped the car and turned the engine off. The memory fell away as the warehouse came into focus.

"SAAAAAAAM!"

It was a scream of unbelievable agony.

Sam got out of the car, trying to get a better idea of where that cry had come from.

"SAMMYYYYY!"

He was moving towards the huge building in front of him before his brain caught up with his legs. Sam raced along the side, trying to find an entrance—door, loading dock, hole, he didn't care, he just had to get to Dean to stop that sobbing agony that was drenching the air. He finally spotted a door—it had a heavy padlock on it and it looked like it have been screwed shut. Sam put his weight against it—it didn't shift. He cast a desperate glance up and down the wall, hoping for another entrance, then tried the unmovable door again. _Still nothing, there's a surprise. _He hit it with his shoulder. The boards creaked a little, but still no movement.

"SAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!"

He would never know what happened. Never have an explanation for it. One second he was slamming into the door, the next he was inside, racing for a set of stairs. Somehow he knew Dean was up those stairs. When he reached the bottom he slowed, he didn't want to alert the demon he was there until the last moment. He eased up the stairs, taking them four at a time, but trying to stay silent. As he neared the top he ducked down to get a look at what was happening. While Dean had been... been.. _gone... _Sam had learned to be a little careful on the attack, having no one at his back made him cautious—at times.

"What do you think this is for?"

"Frying chicken? I could use some," Dean answered. It took everything Sam had to not just barrel over the top of the stairs. _Oh my god, oh god. _

"You got the frying part right. So, shall I ask about Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Dean growled.

"You've been screaming his name."

"It just slipped out."

"Right, it slipped out for what? Twelve years in hell,too? Huh, Dean? He's not coming. Just tell me where he is."

"Fuck you."

"Ah, Dean, so sweet."

Sam was still hesitating when he heard the very distinctive sound of a blow torch being lit. He was up over the top of the stairs less than a second later, tearing across he space separating him from Dean and the demon. She was slowly lowering the torch towards Dean's naked chest when she noticed Sam.

"Sammy," she sigh happily and backhanded Dean so hard his head snapped back on his neck.

"NO!" Sam said diving towards her, he hit her with enough force to knock her away from Dean. "Dean?" he said, trying to lift his brother's head. Dean's eyes fluttered. "Dean?"

"Sammy," the woman, Sam assumed it was Delia, said from behind him, "I was wondering when you'd show up." She grabbed him and threw him away from Dean, he slammed into the floor, stunned for a moment. "Dean's been waiting a long time." She laughed and ran a hand over Dean's face. "Haven't you?"

"Fu..."Dean mumbled.

Sam watched in horror as she pulled a long thin piece of metal out of her back pocket and rammed in into his brother. Dean screamed, no words that time, just a scream of unbearable pain, she was twisting the metal, driving it deeper when Sam stood.

"Stop."

"No," She said with a laugh.

"Stop," Sam repeated desperately. "Hang on, Dean!" Sam tried to focus.

"Make me," she purred. Dean's screams changed tone as she pushed another piece of metal into him. Sam took a step towards her, but she held him off with a wave of her hand. "Not that easy."

"Stop," Sam said, slowly drawing on the power to drive her back to hell.

"Or what?" she asked conversationally, Sam didn't see what she'd done, but Dean's screams ramped up another notch. "Lilith wants to talk with you."

"Let him go," Sam said, his desperation giving way to a blinding rage, he could feel it building in his chest, like the pressure of a breath held to long. The power was building too, slowly, warming him with a soft fire.

"I like him. We got to know each other well while he was in hell with me."

The anger was filling him with power. It was heady, dizzying. "Let him go," he said softly, surprised at the almost toneless quality in his voice, it was an odd counterpoint to the white rage filling him, to the power licking along his body.

It felt good.

He could end this, save Dean. He let it build more, let it flow through him. He could end this misery, stop her, stop all of them. "Let him go."

"No," she said, pouting at him. "He's mine."

"Never," Sam whispered and held his hand out. He'd banished demons before, this shouldn't be hard, not with the power pulsing through him.

It felt really good.

He could stop this, save Dean, save everything, maybe. Sam focused the power, felt it move through him and out his hand.

"Nice try." Delia blinked at his first attempt, then laughed, he felt the little push as she resisted him. "Not good enough for this, that little skank hasn't taught you how to deal with anything like me. Now, where was I?" Dean screamed, the cry cutting off suddenly, like a switch had been turned off. "Look what you made me do."

"Get away from him," Sam said, his voice deepening. He focused the rage, the power _I can end this..._ and struck out at her again. She staggered that time. Sam laughed at the surprise on her face and concentrated.

It felt so damn good.

There was nothing but the amazing flow of power through his body, nothing but the look of increasing shock on Delia's face. _I can end this..._It was all there in that moment, everything else stripped away.

Delia started screaming.

The demon was starting to leave its host, the smoke wisping around the body frantically as if it didn't understand what was happening. _I can end this... _A tiny part of Sam wondered if the body still had the human soul in it, the rest was full of that amazing power, blood-red, tinged with black, filling him to the point of bursting. He could do anything. Somewhere far, far off, he sensed something tremble and laugh _"yes, yes"_—but it didn't matter. Nothing did.

It felt so fucking good.

"_Yes, yes, yes" the laughter whispered._

He listened to the voice laughing in his head, listened focused and then power..._power...POWER!_ Enough to do anything he wanted. He heard himself laugh as the last of Delia was blasted from the body, watched as it fell to the floor with a sickening dead _thud. _There had been nothing there, no soul, not spark of humanity--he could sense that, so he focused, getting ready to blast the body into hell along with Delia... Getting ready to...

"Sammy?" a far off whisper, pain-laced.

He turned to the body hanging from the meat hook, the power pulsing through him, sparking off his fingers.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled. "Sam?"

_Dean, oh god, Dean. _The power, the anger, drained out of him, Sam stumbled to his brother. "Dean?" No response. Sam put his hand against Dean's throat, feeling for a pulse. He'd been so sure he'd heard his brother speak. "Oh god, hang on, oh god," he breathed, carefully pulling the metal from Dean's body. After he dropped those, he looked around for a way to get Dean down, when he couldn't spot the release, he just lifted his brother until Dean's hands slipped free of the hook. He caught the dead weight easily, cradling Dean against him as he carefully lowered him down. "Dean?" Tears were flowing down Sam's face. "Dean?"

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean, I got you." Sam dropped to the floor, laid Dean down and picked the lock on the handcuffs, trying ignore the wounds on Dean's body long enough to get him out of there. If he really looked, he knew he'd break.

"Sam?" Dean said desperately, his eyes fluttered.

"You're safe," Sam said.

Slowly, so slowly Sam didn't notice the movement at first, Dean's arm lifted towards Sam. "Sam?" Dean seemed stuck on that one word, his arm trembling as he reached for Sam.

"I've got you, Dean," Sam said, pulling Dean against him, and feeling Dean's arm wrap around him. "You're safe."

"Safe,"his brother sighed. "Sam." Dean turned his head into Sam's shoulder and with a soft sobbing breath, relaxed.

Sam tightened his hold for a minute. "I am, too. Thank you, Dean. I think you might have..." He let the words stop, carefully picked his brother up and carried him out of the warehouse.

**XXX**

Awareness was creeping back. Dean waiting for the smell to come back as well, the scent of hell, sulfur and rotting flesh, but it didn't come. Neither did the screams that had usually come with awareness. Instead of the hard broken ground, he was lying on something soft and a cool breeze was softly touching his face. _Huh, weird. _The odd throbbing that wasn't pain, but would be, was there, but it was different, too. _Huh._

"Dean?" Sam said gently.

_Sammy?Ah, Sammy, why are you in hell?_

"I'm sorry."

_I am too, I don't want you to be here._

"I have to set your fingers, Dean." A second later an ice-cold, trembling hand touched his.

_Fingers? Set my fingers? _He paused as Sam picked up his hand.

"I'm glad you're out, this is going to hurt."

_Not out, Sammy. Am I in hell? _

"Ready? One, two..." Sam said, Dean felt a snap in his hand. It didn't hurt, relief flooded him. If Sam was there.... Maybe... _Not in hell, Sam found me, not in hell, Sam got me out. NOT IN HELL. _Sam was doing something else with his hand, then a towel full of ice was placed on it. _Great, my fingers are broken again, glad Sam is good at that. Wait, why didn't that hurt? Oh shit, this might be bad. _"I think that cut on your leg might need a couple of stitches, too. I'm not sure what to do about the..." Sam stopped, from the tone in his voice, Dean was pretty sure Sam was close to tears. "This might sting a little, but I have to clean the wound first." Cold swept across his leg, then Sam's icy hands. "Yeah, I think it might need stitches."

_What happened? _Dean let the thought drift around in his head, pinging from one side to the other like the old Pong game they'd played with the summer Sam was four. He was still thinking about it when he felt the tug of the first stitch. _Shouldn't that hurt? _He was worrying about that when awareness slipped away again.

A warm, familiar weight was resting on his chest the next time he woke. He knew what it was without thinking about it. Sam's hand. Dean opened his eyes and looked at his brother. Sam was asleep in a chair by the bed, his arm stretched and twisted at an odd angle so it could rest on Dean's chest. Comforting, but more than that—the patented Dean Winchester vitals monitor. He'd started doing it when Sam had been ill when Sam was seven. Dean could snatch a little sleep during the long hours waiting for Sam's fever to break, but his hand on Sam's chest let him know if his brother's breathing altered, if his heart... Dean shoved that thought away. He'd shown Sam and it had become just part of life for them, they couldn't always risk a hospital, but sometimes their condition was serious enough to need monitoring. Or so he told himself, truth was, when Sam was in that bad of shape, Dean needed contact.

Right now, Sam was the one who looked like he needed contact. Dean wondered when that sadness had crept onto his brother's face. Grief was etched on Sam's face, leaving deep lines and turning his mouth down—even in sleep. There were dark smudges of exhaustion under Sam's eyes, looking like bruises more than anything. Dean suddenly realized he hadn't really looked at Sam since he'd gotten out of the pit. _Why? _He should have noticed. _I might have been a little wrapped up. _He sighed softly, careful not to alter his breathing enough to wake Sam. _Why did I leave? Oh yeah, pissed at everyone. _All the reasons were still there. The anger was distant, like the pain he knew he should feel. _When I can get up, I'll go again... Maybe... _His eyes closed against his will.

"Delia's dead." Castiel's voice pulled him out of the dark.

"Yeah?" Sam sounded weary. "And?"

"What did you do?" Castiel asked. Dean opened his eyes, the angels were standing in the doorway, Sam blocking them from the room.

"Do?"

"There was blood there, too, human blood. Where's Dean?" Castiel said, a scowl on his face.

"I don't know," Sam said with a defiant lift of his chin.

_I'm right here, wait... I did something. Spell, yeah, they can't see me, unless they get close enough to touch, or they are in a human body. Like Delia. What happened to Delia, did Cas say she was dead?_

"We think you do," Uriel said.

"Think what you want." Sam shrugged.

"You know what we will do to you if we find out you're hiding him?" Uriel continued.

"I told you, I don't know. He left. I was trying to follow him, but you fucked that up, didn't you?" Sam said casually, anger reflecting in every line of his body. "He left. Walked out. I can't find him, he did something, you know that."

"But you found Delia," Castiel said.

"Maybe. Maybe Dean wasn't there."

"Sammy?" Dean whispered. He saw the muscles in Sam's back tense for a second.

"I think you're lying," Uriel said, putting his hand on Sam's chest to shove him out of the way.

"And I don't care," Sam said, the careful weariness still in his voice. Dean could hear the fear simmering under the casual tone.

"Sammy, be careful."

"Just leave me alone," Sam said, Dean wasn't sure if it was directed at him or the angels. "When I find him, I want to talk with him first."

"You tell us as soon as you find him." Uriel shoved Sam, his brother stumbled and Uriel took a step forward, but Castiel stopped him.

"Listen," Sam said, drawing himself up to his full height, he towered over the others. Dean almost laughed when he realized Sam was balancing a little on his toes to add to his height, but the growl in his brother's voice took the laughter away. "I _might _tell you when I find him, but if you won't leave him alone, I will make sure that whatever spell he cast to disappear lasts _forever." _

"You wouldn't dare..." Castiel said threateningly.

"You try that, and you will be sorry," Uriel said.

"Yeah, whatever, get out." And Sam slammed the door.

"Sammy?" Dean said softly, Sam had his head against the door, his shoulders were shaking. "Sam?" Dean started to get up, his body didn't seem to want to respond. "Sam?" His brother didn't move.

"Don't move, they're outside the door," Sam said almost silently.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, still trying to get up.

"Just stay there," Sam commanded. "No matter what, Dean, please." Dean saw the door beginning to tremble. "Oh, this is going to suck." Sam was moving away from the door as it slammed open, Sam was thrown across the room.

"Sam!" Dean made his body move that time, racing to where his brother had slumped against the wall."Sammy?" He put a hand against his brother's neck, Sam's heart was beating, he let out a sigh of relief and glanced over his shoulder.

The angels were advancing purposefully towards Sam, their anger palpable in the small room.

Dean looked at his brother. The emotions that had driven him away were still there, everything, anger, resentment, pain, but... _Leaving was a mistake. I need Sammy at my back, and I think he might need me. I can't do this alone, and maybe he can't really either? He's protecting me from them, he... _And it hit him. _He didn't give up. He kept going. He found me. He saved me, from Delia, from ...hell. No, we're better together, no matter what. _

"Hang on, Sammy," he said softly, and stood.

"No," Sam said desperately. "Dean, no."

Dean yanked the amulet he'd made off his neck, the cord snapped and the world made an odd skip. In that moment he put himself between the angels and Sam. "Back off," he growled.

They stopped so fast it was almost comical.

"No," Sam's voice was barely audible.

"Back off," Dean said, taking a step forward. "I think he said you needed to leave?"

"We need to talk," Castiel said.

"Not now," Dean said, shaking his head. "I need time."

"No."

"Yes." Dean took a step towards them. "I need time. And if you don't give it to me, I'll disappear again."

"You wouldn't," Uriel snapped, but Castiel held up a hand to stop his angry words, his eyes searching Dean's face.

"We will give you time, not much, but time." Castiel nodded at him, turned and walked out of the room. With a last growl, Uriel followed.

"He remind you of a rabid pitbull?" Dean said, turning back to Sam. "Sammy?" His brother was fuzzy around the edges.

"Dean!" Sam had himself up and moving as Dean's legs buckled, Sam managed to get them both on the edge of the bed.

"Nice catch," Dean said.

"Why did you do that?" Sam asked, tears in his eyes.

"It was time to come home, Sam," Dean said softly. _Home. _"Did you kill Delia?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Yeah."

Dean searched Sam's face. "You used your powers?" He didn't really need to ask.

"Yeah," Sam's expression fell. "Dean..."

"I thought I was in hell again, you know?" Dean started speaking, the words tumbling out of his mouth, unstoppable. "She was there, in hell, torturing me. It was like I never got out."

"Dean..." Sam's arm tightened on his shoulder.

"She had a blow torch, it was new, she hadn't done that before. Not in hell, not here, and I knew... I knew that would finally be the end, be the thing that broke me. I was waiting and..." He sighed, aware of tears tracking down his face. "It didn't happen," he whispered.

"That's when I got there," Sam said softly. "I stopped her... Dean... I..."

"You saved me, Sammy... From... Well, it might has well have been hell."

"You..." Sam took a breath. "You saved me, too."

"I don't think the angels would have done anything, Sam."

His brother laughed bitterly, then sighed. "Angels, yeah." A long, long pause. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"When are you leaving?" Sam asked so quietly Dean barely heard it.

"Not." He let his head drop against Sam's shoulder and put his hand over Sam's heart.

"I'm glad you came back."

"Yeah, me too," Dean said softly. Consciousness was beginning to fade, he still wondered what was wrong, he was pretty sure he should be in a lot more pain, but it didn't really matter. He was home and they were good, well, he sighed, better. They were better. He closed his eyes and let himself relax the word _home _still in his head as he drifted away.

**Epilogue**

Sam carefully balanced two large coffees and a box of donuts as he walked back to the Impala from a small diner. Dean was perched on the hood of the Impala, watching something in the distance and scratching at his left hand. "Stop that!" he shouted, Dean turned to him with a guilty look.

"Bite me!" Dean called back with a smile.

It felt normal, almost. They'd talked a little more about why Dean left, why he'd come back. Sam knew the anger was still there in Dean, simmering under the surface, but he had come face to face with the fact that the anger had always been in Dean. He'd just missed it in all the years he'd watched his brother. He'd also realized his own tendency to keep secrets from Dean was part of his brother's anger. Sam was working on it, Dean was working on it, maybe they could move on without, as Dean put it two nights before "the huge freaking chick-flick Oprah calls Dr. Phil moments." Sam wasn't sure, but things felt nearly normal, nearly pre-hell normal.

"Don't spill on yourself this time," Sam said with a smile as he handed Dean a coffee.

"You're just upset that I get all the hot nurses."

"Yeah," Sam said softly, trying to keep up the banter, but the fact the torture Dean had endured had destroyed Dean's pain response was killing Sam. Not just because Sam had to watch Dean closely to make sure he didn't hurt himself, but because it was... _Oh god. _He swallowed, trying to imagine how bad it must have been for Dean's pain centers to shut down.

"Hey," Dean said softly. Sam looked up and met his brother's eyes. "I'm okay."

"You have blisters on your hand from the coffee yesterday," Sam said, trying to stop the words.

"I know, but they don't hurt," Dean said with _that _smile. The one he used to get everyone and their sister to do his bidding. It dimmed when Sam didn't smile back. "It's getting better," he said softly. "It itches, that's a good sign, right?"

"Yeah, unless you scratch bloody spots on your hand," Sam said.

"It's kind of cool, like having novocaine everywhere."

"Dean..." Sam paused, wanting to say more, but something on Dean's face stopped him. "Only you would think that was cool."

"It is cool, get with the program." Dean nudged Sam with his shoulder, but instead of pulling away, he stayed leaning against Sam, sipping his coffee staring across the empty parking lot.

Sam sighed. They needed time to talk, time to work through things without the angels, demons and pressures of an impending apocalypse. He'd called Ruby the night before and told her to leave him alone for awhile. She'd been annoyed, but he insisted and, surprisingly, she'd acquiesced without much more prodding. He wondered if she'd somehow found out how close it had come in the warehouse.

He wanted to tell Dean, let him know what had happened, but he wasn't sure he was ready to face what that meant, let alone share it with his brother. That was for another time. Dean had come back, Sam had always wondered what brought him back all those years before, but this time he knew.

And Dean was right.

Things were always easier when they faced them together. Maybe Sam had forgotten that in the time that Dean had been... been... He swallowed. When Dean had been dead and in hell. He had no idea what was coming, but for now, he was content to head out on a hunt and leave all the rest behind.

"My ass is asleep," Dean said after a companionable ten minutes of silence.

"How can you tell, novocaine man?"

"Bite me, bitch."

"Whatever, jerk."

Dean grinned happily. "Ready to hit the road?"

"Yep." Sam helped him to the passenger seat, for all his bravado, the time with Delia had taken a toll, and Dean still needed to recover. "What are you doing?" Sam asked as he dropped into the driver's seat. _Almost normal._ Sam was driving, so it wasn't all the way normal, but Dean was sitting in the passenger seat, and that was more than okay. "Dude? What are you doing?"

"Looking for... What did you do with it?" Dean was rummaging around under the seat.

"Do with?" Sam turned on the engine and pulled out.

"Ah, found it. This," Dean said, pushing a tape into the player.

Music blasted out of the speakers, Sam laughed. They were good, well, maybe not good, but better, and there was a hunt to start. He glanced over at Dean, then started singing with his brother as the vocals began.

_Back in black  
I hit the sack  
It's been too long  
__I'm glad to be back_

_**The End**_

_A/N II: I'm still hoping to find a photo op for LA... If someone happens to have an extra one... _


End file.
